Two card girls occupied the ring, striding around in miniscule bikinis, grinning for their adoring fans. He allowed himself a small smile as he recognized the tall, agile physique of Mihaila– a tigress shifter, adopted by his clan when she was a baby. Her long red hair hung down her back in plaits, and her teeth gleamed under the harsh lights. The other girl was from the Black Paw Ridge clan. He couldn’t recall her name, but he remembered that she and Mihaila hated each other with a passion. When the night was over, they’d most likely be hashing out some grudges around the back of the venue. As they exited the ring to whoops and cheers and offers of marriage, Xander smirked to see Mihaila subtly tripping her rival so she stumbled off the stage.
The music stopped altogether, and only the sound of the audience’s voices remained. Xander scanned their faces, observing the typical combination of excitement and nerves. They waved banners and chanted the names of their favorite fighters. The silence went on and on, building their anticipation, until hard rock music burst from the speakers at an ear-splitting volume, the beat hard and insistent. The crowd screamed until their throats were raw. They knew who owned this song. Their heads twisted in a Mexican wave to the mouth of the tunnel that led to the ring. Xander craned his neck too, his eyes trained on the spot where the wrestler would emerge.
A figure appeared in the shadows, right at the back of the tunnel, inciting yells and screams, before disappearing again. It was part of the show, Xander knew. They’d get the crowd all stirred up and crazy, to the point that people had to be pulled out and given oxygen, and then they’d come on. He was dimly aware that his pulse had quickened as he waited along with the rest.
The figure moved back and forth; other members of the crew stepped out, pretended to be him. But at last, there he was, a huge, menacing presence. Totally unmistakable.
“The fearsome, the incredible, Maximus Silvester, of the Broken Hill Bears!” the compère yelled.
Xander’s throat tightened. Maximus Silvester: the clan’s champion wrestler, and the older brother he hadn’t seen for five years. He watched his brother emerge into the brightly-lit arena, and then he blinked hard. Maximus’ torso was covered in scars, great diagonal welts, running from his shoulders to the waistband of the shiny, red and indigo-colored shorts he was wearing. Wrestlers got scarred, of course, but this was something more. And Maximus was a champion. To be scarred this badly from fights, you’d have to be losing matches pretty frequently.
Maximus let off growls and roars as he sauntered along the tunnel on his way to the ring, his voice clearly audible without the need of a microphone. The tunnel was made of bulletproof glass, as the audience well knew, but they still shrank away with screams of barely-repressed hysteria as he hurled himself against it, snarling and curling his lip.
The chants and whoops got louder and louder as he launched himself into the ring and strutted around, roaring and displaying his powerful physique to thousands of hungry eyes. Xander couldn’t hold back a twinge of pride at the sight of him. He was a formidable opponent, and very rarely beaten.
Before long, Maximus’ theme tune stopped, replaced by a raucous death-metal track and the air filled with a mixture of boos and hisses, along with the cheers and chants. The rubber-necking switched to the tunnel on the opposite side of the ring, and Xander watched as a Black Paw Ridge fighter came into view. He narrowed his eyes. I should know who this is, he thought. A bear with his reputation can’t be new to the clan, and must have been around while I was growing up. But he didn’t recognize the tall, heavily-scarred figure who swaggered to the stage.
“The terrifying, the phenomenal, Enzo Gutierrez!” the compère bawled, and Xander was none the wiser.
Once Enzo had performed his own theatre of menace, the referee – a shifter from a different clan – climbed into the ring with his microphone.
“What have you got to say to Enzo?” he bawled, thrusting it toward Maximus.
“I’m gonna fucking tear him apart! I’m gonna send him crying to his momma!” Maximus snarled. Xander smiled to hear his brother’s voice, however distorted it was just then. Enzo similarly promised to “rip him a new one,” and “break every bone in his miserable body,” and the starting bell rang.
Maximus launched himself onto Enzo with no hesitation, slamming him against the ropes, and it all began. Bear shifters didn’t act; they fought for real. Every slam, punch, choke hold and kick was 100% genuine. Any blood that was spilled – and there was sometimes a lot of it – was from real wounds inflicted by a vicious opponent, rather than the crafty nick of a razorblade favored by human wrestling matches. And they fought until someone was beat. Fights were never rigged. It was a mark of bear pride to fight until an opponent was thoroughly defeated. And in any case, the hatred between the Broken Hill Bears and the Black Paw Ridge Bears ran too deep for anyone to be let off lightly. Night after night, they battled like this, acting out their legendary hatred of each other.
Xander watched his brother with curiosity. He’d been a very strong fighter five years ago, but Xander could see that he’d honed his technique since then. He was very fast and powerful, with the agility of a smaller man, and he punched and kicked and ducked and wove with lightning-fast reactions. Enzo was a powerful opponent too, Xander noted with dismay. He almost matched his brother in strength, and he had a vicious streak. He went for the low blows, trying to catch Maximus off guard.
The rounds continued. Three-minute spurts, each leaving both fighters breathing heavily and soaked in sweat. Maximus was the first to draw blood, opening up a cut above Enzo’s right eyebrow. Xander tasted the tang of adrenaline in his mouth. Fights were often lost and won by such things, as an opponent partially blinded by blood was a lot easier to beat. As the round ended, Enzo threw himself down on his seat and his medical team rushed over, fixing up his wound with butterfly stitches. Halfway through the next round, the wound opened up again, and as Maximus landed a punch square in Enzo’s face, blood sprayed out of it, spattering the bullet-proof glass separating the fans from the bears. The audience let off a deafening scream, part horror, part bloodlust. These humans who are so terrified of us aren’t so very different from us at all, Xander thought with a wry smile.
The bell rang for the end of the sixth round and a brief intermission, and Enzo charged out of the ring, bellowing for his crew like a wounded bull. Maximus stayed in the ring, yelling to the crowd, flexing his muscles, boasting about what he was going to do to his opponent in the second half. Camera equipment was winched over the bulletproof glass and lowered in front of Maximus’ face, and he prodded it with an index finger and snarled into it, and his best fighting face was beamed onto a 15-foot screen at the side of the ring. This boasting and posturing was theater. The only part of the show that was staged. The bears got tired of showing off like this, but it whipped the crowd up into a delirious frenzy. It was what made the audience devoted fans, flocking to see the shows, buying the tickets the moment they were released.
Maximus suddenly became very still and looked up, up high to the VIP box, until he was looking right into Xander’s eyes. And then he leapt over the rope, bounded through the tunnel, and disappeared from sight.
Xander heard a pounding of feet on the stairs behind him, and Maximus appeared at the entrance to the VIP box, huge and perspiring heavily, arms hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes locked with Xander’s, radiating hostility.
“You’re back,” he said, his lips curling up on one side.
“Back for good this time,” Xander said and he bridged the space between them in a couple of strides, before drawing his older brother into a hard hug. Maximus’ arms clamped around his ribs, as if he was trying to crush them.
“You’re looking good, bro,” he said as they drew apart.
“So are you,” Xander replied, noting that his brother’s face had matured since they’d been apart; his jaw and cheekbones had broadened, giving him a hard, implacable look. His narrow blue eyes were as impenetrable as ever, while his golden brow
n hair was cropped shorter than he used to wear it. Up close, his scars looked vicious, like the marks made by an animal. Xander gestured to them. “What happened?” Maximus waved his hand dismissively.
“That’s a story for another time. You’ve missed a lot. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the show.” He turned abruptly and headed back to the stairs. Right before he disappeared from sight, he glanced back at Xander.
“Good to see you, bro,” he said, that curl of his lip again, which was almost a sneer.
This is going to be every bit as difficult as I expected, Xander thought grimly.
The second half of the match was vicious. Enzo had evidently been given the pep talk of his life, and he threw everything he had at Maximus. Meanwhile, Maximus’ style had become more ruthless; almost cruel, Xander noted. He continued the choke holds after the referee had told him to let go, and he aimed for the eyebrow gash again and again. There was no law against it, but wrestlers had an unspoken agreement not to worsen an injury that they’d already caused. Does he always fight like this, or has something got him real riled up? Xander wondered as the gash burst open again, spraying blood onto Maximus’ chest. Before long, Enzo was bleeding from two other spots, and the mat began to get slick with his blood. Xander could see that both fighters were having trouble keeping their footing as they aimed kicks and punches. The audience could also tell that something was up between them. There were ooohs and ahhhs of shock, mingled in with the usual cacophony of excited screams.
Enzo couldn’t keep going under Maximus’ relentless assault. His determination only lasted for the seventh round, and in the eighth, he was back on the ropes, fending off a series of blows that hit him like a jackhammer. A vicious uppercut sent him sliding to the floor, and when the referee gave him the count, he slipped and slid in his own blood, unable to regain his footing.
Four more rounds passed, with Enzo looking increasingly beat. When the final bell rang, the referee seized Maximus’ hand and raised it to the sky. The almost unconquered fighter had won yet another match. Maximus gave a victory roar and strutted around the stage, looking like a primeval beast that had just finished feasting on a buffalo. Then he gestured for the mike, and the referee handed it over.
“Another pathetic loser from the Black Paws bites the dust!” he bellowed. “And if that wasn’t excitement enough for you, I have a very special announcement to make: my long lost brother is back! He’s been away on a five-year mission, but he’s returned to kick some ass. I hope you can hear that, you miserable excuses for bears! My brother, the greatest fighter of the Broken Hill Bears, never before beaten, is here to kick the shit out of you! Xander, come and show your face!” Xander stiffened. No-one else would’ve picked up on the sarcasm in his brother’s voice, but he heard, it loud and clear. Maximus turned until he was looking directly at him again. At the same time, all the bears in the VIP box turned and stared at him too, letting off rumbles of surprise.
“Xander!” yelled a guy he recognized but couldn’t name. “You’re back!” They all rushed toward him, hugging him roughly and slapping him on the back.
“You’ve got to go in the ring now, man!” one of them yelled. He shook his head. No. This was the last thing he needed right now. But before he knew it, his shirt was being tugged over his head.
“Stop!” he bellowed, and his arms flew out to the sides, scattering them.
“Where’s my brother, Xander?” Maximus roared from the ring. There was a taunt in his voice, and Xander knew he couldn’t fail to rise to the challenge.
“Come on. We need to show the Black Paws that they’re nothing anymore,” one of the other bears said. He sighed, pulled his t-shirt off and threw it aside, then jogged down the steps and all the way to the ring. He grabbed the ropes, threw a somersault, and landed with a bounce right next to his brother.
“That’s right!” he roared, snatching the mike. “Xander the Great is back! You know what happened to my namesake one time?”
“No!” the audience screamed, in an incredible wave of sound.
“He wept, because there were no more worlds to conquer! That’s right! He was such a great fighter that he beat down any obstacle in his path. Well, I’m telling you, I’ve been all around the world for the last five years, and now I’m back. Ready to conquer any damn wrestler who thinks he’s up to the challenge!” While the crowd yelled and screamed and clapped, he cringed inwardly. He didn’t know how those words came out of his mouth. Still, he was glad that he hadn’t lost his talent for driveling bullshit. The audience was lapping it up though, bawling “Xander, Xander!”, trying to turn ‘Xander the Great’ into a chant.
As he bounced around the stage, preening and flexing his muscles, he was amazed how easily he slipped back into the role. Acting talent, along with fighting prowess, seemed to run in the family.
Gradually, the chant turned into “Bear! Bear! Bear!” The audience wanted them to shift, of course, as was customary at the end of a match. They never shifted in front of the audience – such a thing was absolutely forbidden in the shifter world, and anyone caught shifting like that would instantly be put down by their own clan – but they usually ran to the changing room and came back in their bear forms. He couldn’t do it today. His bear was very unpredictable at the moment. He hadn’t been able to let it out anything like as much as he needed to during his last deployment, and this had made it very frustrated and hard to keep in check. He was worried that it might try to get to the females in the audience and cause havoc. With a wild snarl, he snatched up the microphone again.
“My bear’s not fucking coming out today!” he roared. “What do you think I am – a fucking performing circus animal?”
He couldn’t have been more rude, but the audience loved it, whooping and screaming louder than ever, and chanting his name.
At last, the venue manager held up a sign indicating that their slot was over, and they gratefully leapt over the ropes and headed for the exit. As they reached the glass-walled tunnel, female yells and screams filled the air, and the audience moved as one, trying to get close to them. Camera phones were pressed against the walls of the tunnel, along with cardboard hearts, flowers, pouting lips and boobs in low-cut shirts. There were banners everywhere: “Maximus I love you!” “Please bear my baby!” ‘Maximus you can wrestle me anytime!” Maximus played up to the hysterical girls, laying his hand flat against the glass, mirroring the splayed fingers of a much smaller female hand, pretending to kiss the pouting lips.
As Xander followed his brother, a sea of starry eyes gazed at him, full of curiosity and desire. “Xander the Great – come and conquer me!” one banner read, and he shook his head, amazed that the girl holding it had managed to create it so quickly.
“Join in, bro,” Maximus hissed. “The girls are gonna love you.” Xander grinned at the girls, waved, blew a few kisses, but hung back from attaching himself to the delirious mob through the glass. It was too much. As a girl began to pull her top right down to flash her breasts, he turned his head quickly. Way too much. He felt like he was being worshipped for something he hadn’t done.
At long last, they were back in the changing rooms, and he let out a breath of relief, which turned to dismay as he saw how many of the clan were waiting there, ready to greet him. There were hugs, handshakes and a million questions. He told everyone the same thing – there’d be a meeting tomorrow of the entire clan, where he’d tell everyone in detail why he was back in Broken Hill.
Maximus was showering, washing the blood and sweat off his skin.
“Let’s go speak to the sponsors and managers now,” he called to Xander when he was done, walking out of the room without waiting for him to follow. Xander snorted as they entered the meeting room. Some things never changed. The meeting room was harshly lit, with hard plastic chairs, and divided in two with more bullet-proof glass. Shifters on one side and humans on the other. Communication was via microphones. The humans all had big grins on their faces as they welcomed him and congratulated Maxim
us on another great win, but the edges of their lips were twitching, and the rank smell of fear seeped in from their side of the room. Xander sat quietly and listened to his brother negotiating. He’d been out of the game too long to know what the current rates were. But when a figure was mentioned for his own sponsorship deal, he raised an eyebrow. And promptly dropped it again as Maximus dismissed it as being insultingly low.
“We’re accepting bids, starting at twice that figure for a 12-month contract,” Maximus said. “Draw us up a list of applicants, and we’ll let you know who Xander is interested in being associated with.”
“Xander, would you like to share with us what you’ve been doing for the past five years?” a pale, sweating human asked, his voice trembling as he spoke.
“Nope,” he said, folding his arms and fixing him with a look that meant ‘no more questions’. He went beet red and dropped his gaze to the table. He couldn’t resist a small smile.
“Thank you, gentlemen. This meeting is over,” Maximus said in his deep voice, placing his hands on the table and pulling himself to his feet. “You’ve got my cell if there’s anything urgent to discuss.”
“Things are going well,” Xander said, as they left the room.
“Yup. Business has never been better,” Maximus replied shortly.
Out the back of the venue, they piled into their tour bus – a huge, black, bulletproof beast of a vehicle. Xander sat in the front, looking through the wing mirror at the police escort behind them. As they went through the security gates, the police followed them, and continued to follow them all the way to the city limits. Then, they got out of their cars, carrying sub-machine guns, and trained them on the bus until it was out of sight.
Xander sighed. Welcome back to shifter-land. The whole five years he’d been in the military, none of his comrades knew that he was a bear, and he was well-liked and respected. Now, those same comrades would probably shoot him on sight if they recognized him as a bear wrestler.
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